With Book 7 of the Cross of Ciarán series coming out this month, I thought I’d add another article to my Irish Mythology series. The title of this book is the Goblet of Firinne, and the story centers around just that — Manannán mac Lir’s Goblet of Truth. So just what role does this artifact play in Irish mythology?

Before we get to that, perhaps we should delve into just who its owner, Manannán mac Lir, was. As his name signifies, he was the son of the sea. Now, whether he was always the god of the sea, or inherited the position from his father, in Celtic lore, he was the deity who ruled the sea, guardian of the Tuatha dé Danann, and ruler of at least three realms in the Otherworld, or maybe it was just one with three different names. This is mythology after all, so the facts can get clouded in the féth fiada from time to time. For our purposes here, however, It’s a few of the items he was said to possess that we’ll be concentrating on.

The first, of course, was the Goblet of Truth. It was said that this magical cup would shatter into three pieces if three lies were told before it. But there was an upside. If three truths were then told, it was reported to repair itself and become whole again — sort of like an ancient, magical lie detector. This is the mystical gift Manannán mac Lir gave to Cormac mac Airt, High King of Ireland, but there is much more to the story than that. First, Cormac had to prove he was worthy of it, even if he had no idea he was being tested.

During the third century, Cormac mac Airt came to power as High King of Ireland. He was a man known for his wisdom, courage, and integrity. This was just the type of man Manannán hoped would rule Ireland, but he wanted to test him first. Disguised as an elderly war veteran, he came to Tara alone, carrying a silver branch on which grew golden apples. When he shook the branch, sweet music filled the air. All troubles were forgotten, and a peaceful state settled over all who heard it. More than that, it clouded Cormac’s mind, keeping him from thinking clearly.

Cormac had to have the branch for his kingdom, and the grey-haired man – aka Manannán – offered a trade. If he were to give the High King the branch, Cormac would grant him three awards at some time in the future. These awards would be at the time and choosing of the warrior himself. Enchanted by the branch, and assuming the old man would ask for cattle, land, or some such thing, Cormac agreed. But that is not what Manannán asked for.

The first year, the warrior returned and requested Cormac’s daughter, Ailbhe. There was nothing the king could do. According to Brehon Law, a king’s word, once given, could not be taken back. To do so would cause a curse upon the entire kingdom. The next year, the elderly man came for the king’s son, Cairbre. Once again, the king could do nothing, and though broken-hearted, he granted the request. The third year, the veteran came for his final prize. This time, he asked for Cormac’s wife, Eithne. That was more than the high king could withstand. He’d lost his entire family, and the grief was overwhelming.

Without taking time to raise his army or alert his men, he raced after his wife, determined not to lose sight of her. Even after the warrior led her through the magical fog that separated this world from the Otherworld, he did not stop. Cormac strode through the féth fiada without any care for his own safety, his only thought for the woman he loved. But on coming out the other side, he saw nothing of them.

The land was strange indeed. Some men were thatching a roof, but instead of thatch, they were using feathers that blew away as fast as they put them on. He walked a bit further and saw a man placing wood on a fire. Though the fire was burning well, and a good supply of logs was stacked off to the side, the man continued to run into the forest to cut more. Shaking his head, Cormac continued on his way, passing a man who continually tried to jump over a river and failing time and time again. At last, Cormac came to the castle, where he was welcomed in by a handsome, golden-haired prince and his lady.

The man had a pig cooking on the spit and asked Cormac to join them, though he said that the animal would only cook if four truths were told before it. The host started by saying he had a pig that could be cooked and eaten one day, but as long as its bones were gathered together, it would be alive and well again the next day. When he finished speaking, one quarter of the animal cooked. His lady then said she had seven magical cows who could provide milk for their entire kingdom. The second quarter cooked. The host spoke again. He warned that a storm was coming, but was certain his crops would not be destroyed because they too were magical. As he finished speaking, the third quarter cooked.

Finally, the prince turned to Cormac and asked him to supply a truth. The king broke down, telling the story of how he had lost his family. He spoke of his foolishness, and the grief that filled his heart. The fourth quarter cooked, and the host told Cormac to eat, but the king refused, saying he would never eat again until his family was back by his side.

It was then that Manannán mac Lir revealed his true identity and smiled at Cormac, admitting it had all been a test. He had never wanted Cormac’s family, but to see if he was truly worthy of the position of king. With a wave of his hand, the doors opened, and Cormac and his family were reunited. After a hearty meal, the family dozed off, but the next morning Cormac woke in his own bed, his wife beside him, his children close at hand. The silver branch remained, but next to it was another item, a goblet. This was Manannán mac Lir’s Goblet of Truth, left to help Cormac rule over his people with a just and fair hand. Cormac used it to test the veracity of witness statements, and thus, bring justice to his kingdom. He reigned for forty years over a land that enjoyed peace and abundance. Upon his death, it is said that the goblet disappeared. In the Goblet of Firinne, I may speculate a bit about what truly might have happened to the ancient cup, but that’s another story.

Ciarán is a 5th-century Celtic priest, buried alive for betraying his goddess. When archaeologist Caitlin O’Connell digs him up in an Irish hillside, she has no idea he’s about to wake up — and hide in plain sight as her uncle’s handyman.

She’s hunting for her missing Celt. He’s desperate to stay hidden. And neither of them can ignore what’s growing between them.

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Six books out now. Book 7 arriving this summer.

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A Celtic priest buried alive for betraying his goddess. A New York archaeologist determined to find her missing Celt. A love story fifteen centuries in the making.

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The typical Border Reiver had a very distinctive style of dress. They weren’t covered head to foot in armor like many of their counterparts. And yet, they were valued for their horsemanship and fighting skills. So, just how did the Border Reiver prepare for battle?

While some wealthier reivers might have opted for a breastplate or gorget, they were, at their core, light cavalry. Their aim was to travel fast, hit quickly, and be on their way, so most opted for the iconic jack of plaite. A quilted doublet of leather or canvas, the jack had pieces of steel or horn sewn between the layers of fabric. It protected the wearer without the weight of full armor and allowed for better mobility and range of movement. In addition, they could easily be sewn by a wife or mother, making them far more affordable for the average reiver.

For the most part, these jacks were sleeveless and worn over linen shirts, making them adaptable for all sorts of chores. They could be easily converted for battle by attaching padded or reinforced sleeves. These sleeves would often be made of the same material as the jack and attached to the main doublet at the shoulders by points. In a time before zippers and Velcro, points were laces that tied pieces of a garment together. Leather gauntlets might also be tied around the reiver’s wrists for added protection.

The Border Reivers did not wear kilts either. Instead, on their legs, they wore trews, breeches, or trunk hose of durable material, complemented by sturdy over-the-knee boots and spurs. Heavy gloves protected their hands, and thick scarves covered their neck. In addition, they always carried a plaid or blanket of sorts to wear around their shoulders if the weather called for it.

The most recognizable piece of their gear, however, was their steel bonnet, an open-faced helmet, typically a crowned morion or burgonet. Think Conquistadors. Beneath them, they would wear a heavy skull cap to line the helmet or a bonnet, a brimless wool cap, many times blue, especially on the Scottish side of the border.

Now that we’ve covered their clothing, let’s move on to one of their most cherished possessions, the hobbler or Border horse. Smaller than a modern horse, these hearty ponies were known for their stamina and surefootedness. Being smaller than a modern horse, they were quick, easy to maneuver, and less likely to take a tumble. Another positive attribute was the thickness of their hooves, which allowed them to remain unshod. Without the clatter of metal horseshoes, the reiver could approach a bastle house undetected, or at least long enough to surprise the inhabitants. The fact that they left no prints behind made it harder for their pursuers to track them as well. Alas, the hobbler, or Galloway pony, no longer exists today. The closest you might find is the fell or the dale pony.

Of course, no self-respecting Border Reiver would be found without a weapon or two, not if they wanted to live. The pike or border lance is the one most recognizable when thinking of the reivers. Unlike the well-known lance carried by the knights you’ve seen in movies, the border lance was much lighter, but in the hands of a skilled reiver, it could be just as deadly. A long, flexible pole, usually made of a light wood like ash, it was fitted with a sharp steel blade at one end. Equally effective from the saddle or on foot, it became a standard item in the reiver’s arsenal.

But even if the reiver was somehow disarmed and lost the use of his pike, he was not at the mercy of his enemy, for every reiver carried both a sword and at least one dagger. The swords were generally basket-hilted back swords. Aside from being lightweight, the blade was sharpened on one side, making it ideal for inflicting slicing wounds from the saddle as well as in hand-to-hand combat. As for the daggers, they were not yet called dirks in 1538, but one was a bollock dagger, named for the anatomical resemblance of its hilt to a male’s private parts – the bollocks. Many slipped them down in their boots for easy access, and they could be quite effective in close quarters. Some may have also carried a parrying dagger to use in concordance with their sword. This would likely be carried in his girdle or belt.

Along with the arms listed above, the Border Reiver also employed bows, sometimes from the saddle, but at other times on foot, such as when assaulting the approaching enemy from the upper stories of a peel tower. While the English generally favored the long bow, the Scottish reiver tended to prefer the latchet or latch crossbow. It was smaller and lighter than a regular crossbow and able to be wielded with one hand for easy use while mounted. In my Thunder on the Moor series, however, Will uses the latchet because he’s still able to fire it with one arm after being wounded in the shoulder.

In addition to these weapons, the typical Border Reiver was skilled with a number of polearms, each with a distinct purpose. The pike was mentioned at the start of this article. While utilized effectively by the reiver while mounted or on foot, it was the ultimate anti-cavalry weapon. Used for thrusting, it was popular for bringing down a horseman before he could reach you with his sword. The bill was another useful polearm. Not only did it feature a spike for thrusting at both ends, but one end had a hook as well, which came in handy if you wanted to drag a rider from his mount. It was mostly popular on the English side of the border. The glaive was yet another pole weapon, though less popular on the borders. It had a single-edged blade on the end, almost like a cleaver, which made it useful for chopping and slicing.

But the Border Reivers also had their own unique polearms, named for locations along the borders, especially north of the border. While the English favored the pike and the bill, the Scottish Borderers’ weapon of choice was the Jeddart Staff. Featuring a long sword-like blade, it was especially useful for slashing blows. Another, more popular in the Highlands, but sometimes seen on the Borders, was the Lochaber axe. Its axe-like blade was well suited for a chopping blow, and the other end sported a hook, which could come in handy for yanking the enemy from the saddle, perhaps after a chopping injury to the leg.

All in all, the Border Reiver had an impressive armory, and they were skilled at using each weapon within it. During times of war, they were valued for their horsemanship and expertise with arms, but when the war was over, they were cast aside, no longer useful to their kings, and left to fend for themselves in a territory that had been ravaged by war. And that is just what they did. Is it any wonder that the Border Reiver did just that?

Just who was Niall of the Nine Hostages? Was he an actual historical figure? Well, yes and no. According to the Roll of High Kings listed in the Lebor Gabála Érenn or the Book of the Taking of Ireland, as well as the Book of the Four Masters, Niall ruled as High King of Ireland. This is somewhat of a misnomer, however, as there wasn’t a true high king who ruled over the entirety of Ireland until the ninth century. Niall likely reigned over the ancient provinces of Connacht and Ulster. Of course, that’s not to say he didn’t exert some influence over the other provinces and beyond, perhaps even into Roman Britain, Wales, Scotland, and even Brittany. It varies from source to source, but through a system of hostage taking he managed to convince the rulers of the other provinces to acknowledge his supremacy. Thus, he became known as Niall Noígiallach or Niall of the Nine Hostages.

When he ruled is quite another story. with accounts varying from the mid-200s to the middle of the 5th century, though modern scholars believe the latter end of the spectrum is more likely. That would have meant he reigned around the time Ciaran was growing to adulthood in my Cross of Ciaran series. At any rate, one thing that can be stated with some certainty is that he was to be the forefather of the mighty Ui Neill dynasty that ruled over Ireland for a thousand years. From there, the line between fact and fiction blurs, and the truth gets lost in the mists of time, shrouded in legend and myth. Some events are likely true, to an extent, while others are simply tales told to enhance the adventures of a man, one incredibly notable and courageous man, no doubt, but a man, nonetheless. But just how did Niall become king?

The Adventures of the Sons of Eochaid Mugmedón is a saga that makes up a large part of the fourth and final phase of Irish Mythology: the King’s Cycle. To start with we must go back to the birth of Niall. His father, Eochaid Mugmedón, ruled as king from Tara and was known as the slave lord, due to his many forays into Roman Britain and possibly into Scotland and Wales, as well. He was married to Mongfhionn, the sister of the King of Munster, and she bore him four sons: Brian, Fiachra Ailill, and Fergus. Niall, the youngest, however, was Eochaid’s son by Caireann, the daughter of the King of Britain, and a slave captured on one of his raids. Whether or not she became his second wife is questionable, depending on the source, but I tend to think not, given the abhorrent treatment she received at the hands of Mongfhionn.

Once again, I will tell the tale in my own words, so, as usual, please bear with me. Mongfhionn was not at all pleased to learn that Caireann was to bear her husband another child, and whether she was Eochaid’s mistress or simply a slave he’d taken advantage of, she treated the woman as a lowly servant and assigned her taxing menial tasks in the hopes she would miscarry. Caireann knew of Mongfhionn’s disdain for her child, and so, when the time came, and Niall was born, she left him in a field for the poet, Torna, to take and raise in safety

. Years later, on attaining his majority, Niall returned to Tara, intent on taking his rightful place. Seeing the way his mother was still being treated, he dressed her in fine clothing and asked his father to elevate her to a more appropriate position. Eochaid apparently knew of the boy’s existence, however, for he welcomed Niall with open arms, much to the dismay of Mongfhionn. To make matters worse, Niall was an enchanting young man who endeared himself to all at court. Now, in those days, the kingship was appointed, not simply passed down to the eldest child, so in an effort to ensure the position for her son, Mongfhionn demanded that her husband choose his heir at once. But Eochaid was no fool and realized that this was a battle he could never win, and so he assigned the task to his druid, Sithchenn. And the druid did not disappoint his king. He set a contest for the five young men, whereby he locked them in a forge and set it on fire, telling each to escape with whatever items they could. The choices they made would determine which one of them was the most worthy of kingship.

The eldest, Brian, immediately grabbed a sledgehammer and beat his way through the door. The druid announced he would be a strong warrior, fierce in battle. The next to come through was Fiachra, carrying the bellows and a bucket of beer. The druid nodded his approval, saying that he would hold all the science and beauty of his people. Next, Ailill strode through carrying a chest of weapons, which the druid explained signified his skill in enacting vengeance for his people. Finally, Fergus came out carrying a pile of kindling. The druid shook his head, declaring that he was a weakling whose line would end with him. The last to emerge was Niall, who carried an anvil, and immediately, the druid proclaimed to all those assembled that he was their king, for like the anvil, he would bear the weight of his people upon his shoulders.

Needless to say, Mongfhionn was furious and instructed that not a word was to be said to anyone about the old druid’s findings. Secretly, she instructed her sons to start fighting amongst themselves, and when Niall came to help, as he clearly would, a blade would go amiss and accidentally strike him dead. Such a tragic accident. True to form, Niall did begin to walk in their direction, intent on doing just as Mongfhionn had suspected, but his foster father, Torna, stopped him, telling him to let the brothers sort it out for themselves. Niall did as he was advised, and so Mongfhionn’s plan was foiled. But the druid was not about to let his verdict go unheeded, and so he set a second test.

He instructed all five brothers to go out hunting, but to take nothing save their weapons. Once more, the young men did as they were told, but although they brought down a deer, they had drifted so deep into the forest that they were no longer able to determine their way back. To make matters worse, a heavy mist had begun to form, which left them with an enormous thirst. Since they had brought nothing but their weapons, it was determined that they would need to go in search of water.

They sent Fergus first, and by and by, he came upon an old hag of a woman guarding a well. The old tales go into great description here, but let’s just say she would turn milk sour. Fergus timidly asked if he might have some water, but when the hag told him he could if he would give her a kiss, he flatly refused. He hurried back to came, where he told his brothers that there was not a drop of water to be found. Growing more and more thirsty by the moment, the brothers decided that they should each head out in a different direction to search for some water, for surely there must be some to be found.

Eventually, Brian and then Ailill came across the hag, and each of them had much the same reaction as Fergus. Fiachra, too, finally stumbled across the well and the hag beside it, but he managed to give her a wee peck on the cheek. She told him his descendants would be kings one day, but he would not, nor would he get so much as a speck of water from her.

At last, Niall came across the hag, but when she asked for a kiss, he replied that not only would he kiss her, but he would lay with her as well. But then, as he placed his lips upon hers, the ugly old hag turned into a beautiful young woman. After fulfilling his promise, most eagerly, no doubt, he returned to his brothers with the water. Before he would give them a drink, however, he made them pledge their fealty to him, and so it was that Niall became king and ruled from Tara for many years, and all the kings and nobility of Ireland were glad of it.

When the King of Munster attacked, Niall took a hostage to gain his loyalty, and so he did for all the other provinces and any kingdom who thought to attack his people. It is purely conjecture, but some say Saint Patrick may have even been one of these hostages. Whether that was true or not, one thing is known for certain. He became known as Niall of the Nine Hostages, the forefather of the Ui Neill dynasty, and from his seed, twenty-six generations of his descendants would reign over Ireland

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